The scene: At the grocery store, innocently trying to buy some edamame.

Customer is trying to buy a Mounds bar, from the 50% off table. Everything on the 50% off table has a sticker with a barcode on it, which is to be swiped to achieve the discount, because of course the check-out people can’t be expected to do the math themselves.

Said customer also had a box of cereal from the 50% off table. It rang up at $1.22, after the discount. The Mounds bar, on the other hand, wasn’t cooperating. Full price, it was $1.19, but the sticker on the front wasn’t applying the discount. The cashier was having a lot of trouble, scanning, un-scanning, re-scanning.

After several minutes of this, she said, “Can I just give it to you for the $1.22 on the other sticker?”

Um…can you give 50% off a Mounds bar that is full price at $1.19, by using the 50% off sticker of something that costs $2.44? REALLY?

She said, “Oh, wait, I guess that’s not quite half off.”

At this point, I’m just dumbfounded. That is more than 100% of the cost of the thing. So no, it is NOT half off or anything close to it. She had done so much scanning that she had to call a manager for an override…OF THE WHOLE TRANSACTION. The people in the line were about to start revolting, as she started scanning all the items again.

Then she and the manager put their heads together to do the math on 50% off of $1.19. One would think that the easiest way to accomplish this would just be to round up to $1.20 and know that half of that is $0.60, so half of $1.19 would be $0.595, or still $0.60 once rounded up.

But no.

These two women together, after professing their terrible math skills, decided that half of $1.19? Is $0.52. Which is what they took OFF the price, not what they charged the customer. Which doesn’t even begin to take into account the loss of 10 minutes of his life over a Mounds bar.

I can only hope it was the best Mounds bar in the whole universe. FACEPALM.

Last week, I took a detour from my usual public transportation route. I got off at an earlier stop to take a look at some minimalist running shoes. I’ve been contemplating them for months, so I wanted to try some on.

Hot damn, are they great! But that’s a story for another day. Or one I’ve already told you by now. I’m awesome like that.

Anyway, this particular stop is in a sort of low tunnel thing, so there are stairs, elevators, and an escalator to get out. I was closer to the escalator, so I chose that. Not one to be lazy these days, I always force myself to walk up at least one escalator (at my usual stop, there are three and one of them is ENORMOUS, so I walk up the first, half the second, and the third).

There was a man on the escalator, about halfway up. He had chosen, as people often do, to stand directly in the middle of the step and he was taking full advantage of the escalator. Read: He wasn’t moving a muscle.

As I approached him, I said, “Excuse me.” No response. Again, “Excuse me.” Again, nothing. So I just stepped around him, since clearly he had decided to be a dick today.

Then it happened. I stepped around him on his step, then stepped up to the next one and he said, “Excuseyou, ugh.”

I turned around, more disdain in my eyes than even I thought I could muster.

“I said excuse me, thank you very much, but you didn’t bother to fucking listen. Maybe if you didn’t have to take up the entire fucking step, this wouldn’t be a problem, you lazy ass bastard.” I stopped short of, “and pull your damn pants up, I don’t want to smell your ass.”

So it seems that I’m at my “rude assholes” maximum for the DART train. And it’s only been six months. This should get interesting.

I don’t even really know how to begin this post. I’m still in awe (and not in a good way) about the story I just read. And so I’m breaking up with the story, the idea behind the story, the woman in the story, and all the people who are encouraging her.

I’ve seen a lot of things on the internet in my days. But this? This takes the cake (and the cakefarts).

First, I’m shaking my head in disgust that this is in the JOBS section of AOL. Which I’m forced to use because it’s the only email my boss can even sort of understand, even when he tries to paste MS Word files into his email to attach them. I mean, yes, technically this woman is making money, but is this really a JOB?

I never had anything against fat people. Hell, I’m basically one of them. I mean, not on this level, but I’m certainly no skinny Minnie. However, riding the DART has sort of made me change my mind a slight bit about people who are so fat they can’t get up the two steps to get on the bus. Mostly, because they make me late. Your health is your business, as long as it doesn’t affect me, okay? And I still don’t care about health insurance premiums or anything else, because really, if you want to be fat, that’s your choice. And honestly, I think until we fix the completely broken food industry in this country, nothing is going to change all that much. Until it is cheaper to buy fruit and vegetables than a cheeseburger and french fries, we’re fucked.

But this? This is pretty disgusting.

This woman has two children, has been married once, and had a long-term partner once, and she…makes money by getting fatter. She’s using her four-year-old daughter as a food ferry. And, gents, she’s looking for a new partner who is slim and ten years younger than her, so that HE can help feed her, and relieve some of the burden from her daughter.

This is really the society we live in? This woman makes $100K a YEAR on her website for eating and posting pictures and videos? Yay for capitalism?

I’m not saying that this woman should be denied health care, although it’s harder to argue that fat people don’t really cause any more trouble when I read that it took 30 people to deliver her last baby. I’m not saying she’s wrong. I’m not saying she shouldn’t have the right to destroy her body if she wants.

But damn, why would anyone pay to watch that?

Oh wait…I’ve seen the latest reality television offerings. We’ll clearly pay money to watch people do just about anything.

Read it again, Sam.

If you tip the Sonic Girl…oh, hell, even if you don’t.

I write for you. I rap for you (that one time, but c'mon, it was awesome). I make you laugh.

If any of that inspires you to, say, buy me a virtual drink, clicking that button up there will take you to PayPal. I will send so many happy thoughts in your general direction.

This money will not go to help the homeless or feed the hungry, but it just might get me drunk enough to do stupid things for your entertainment. Or buy me sexy toys. Just sayin'.

Don't worry, I already feel like an asshole. But GingerMandy talked me into it (I'm pretty sure it was my idea. Because no one will do a telethon for me.) after she foisted a really complicated budget sheet on me and now my head hurts.